


One Fixed Point

by thepurplewombat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: DH compliant, F/M, HP: EWE, Severus Snape Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-02-16 15:54:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13057227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepurplewombat/pseuds/thepurplewombat
Summary: Two years ago, the Dark Lord died. So did Severus Snape. Only someone isn't buying the party line, and when a terrified Draco Malfoy makes a midnight visit to Harry Potter, Harry may learn that nothing is as it seems.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone please give a hand of applause to Ms_Anthrop for making this chapter a billion times better than it was before!

_You are the one fixed point in a changing age. There's an east wind coming all the same, such a wind as never blew on England yet. It will be cold and bitter, Watson, and a good many of us may wither before its blast. But it's God's own wind none the less, and a cleaner, better, stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the storm has cleared. **– Sherlock Holmes in His Last Bow, by Arthur Conan Doyle**_

“Go!” Hermione shouts when Harry looks like he’s about to stop, to turn back. “ _Go_ , Harry, I’ll be right behind you just…”

For once in his life Harry listens, and leaves her in the dimly-lit dusty Shrieking Shack, with the corpse of their potions professor.

Hermione hopes rather desperately that Harry is wrong about the ‘corpse’ bit, and so she falls to her knees in the pool of blood and fumbles in her beaded bag for the last vial she has left, her most precious possession. It seems somehow appropriate to use this here, now, on this man.

She stares into his eyes and feels the familiar tug of Legilimency, yanking her into his mind. The comforting chaos that is Snape’s mind surrounds her, flashes of images and colours and sensations bombarding her senses.

 _Severus! Severus Snape_! She calls out, and after what feels like only a moment, he materialises in front of her. Hermione launches herself into his arms and he clutches her against him for a moment before pushing her back.

_Hermione, you have to go! If you’re in my mind when I die…sweet girl, don’t let me pull you along!_

_Just a moment longer, Severus,_ she whispers. _I have a vial of Second Chance, if you want it._

The tall, pale figure of the Headmaster stares at her, stunned. She’s giving him a chance to live. Not a guarantee, no, but a chance, if he wants it. If he truly desires, in his heart of hearts, to survive, the Second Chance will ensure it.

In his mind, he takes a deep breath.

 _Give me the potion, Hermione_ , he breathes, and pushes her out of his mind with the last of his strength.

The whole exchange has taken less than a moment, and his heart is still beating, if barely, by the time Hermione is able to fumble the potion into the ragged hole in his throat, and into his half-open mouth.

She wants to wait, oh how she wants to wait and see if he will take the chance she’s given him, but there’s no _time_ , not if all of their hard work is to amount to anything, not if she wants to see Voldemort defeated. So she kisses his forehead, the most physical contact she’s ever had with him, although they’ve been so deep into each other’s psyches that they might as well be one person, and pushes her own emergency portkey into his hand.

“Be safe,” she whispers, and a moment later he’s gone.

Several hours later, after Voldemort has died, after the dead have been tallied – but for one conspicuously missing corpse – Hermione makes her way out of the great hall. She’s told Harry that she needs some time alone and he’s agreed to keep his silence, and he watches quietly from the entrance hall as she disapparates.

She arrives at her parents’ abandoned house a moment later. The silence is oppressive, and Hermione tries not to make any noise as she strips off her filthy, battle-worn clothing and showers the dust and blood and ash off her skin. Finally clean and dressed in fresh clothes, she makes her way to the master bedroom, where she curls op on her parents’ bed in the safest place she knows. Before she falls asleep she feels a heavy arm fall across her body, and she smiles as she drifts off to the first restful sleep she’s had all year.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry startled awake as someone banged on the front door of Grimmauld Place. He sat up and fumbled for his wand as Ginny awoke next to him, sitting up with her bright red hair spilling over her bare shoulders.

“Harry?” she asked. “Is that…”

“I’ll get it,” he muttered, grabbing for his robe. “You can stay here, I’ll go see who it is.”

Ginny was already going for her robe and her wand, however, and they snuck carefully down the stairs – not that they needed to; the one-way silencing wards on James Sirius’ nursery were quite effective – to the front door. Harry peered through the keyhole and froze, trying desperately to come up with a reason for Draco Malfoy to be standing on his doorstep, looking utterly terrified and more than a little mad.

“Malfoy?” he called through the door. “What do you want?”

The look of utter relief on Malfoy’s face was almost terrifying in its intensity.

“Potter,” the blond man breathed. “Thank Merlin. Let me in before I’m seen!”

“Well you’ve almost certainly been heard,” Ginny muttered as Harry opened the door. She reached out and yanked Malfoy inside, allowing Harry to slam the door behind him. “Draco, what’s wrong?”

Ginny worked with Malfoy at St. Mungo’s as a trainee Healer, and they had a decent working relationship, but not the kind of friendship that lends itself to midnight wake-ups. Still, she’d seen Draco Malfoy elbow-deep in viscera and he’d been less pale than he was now, so she poked Harry in the ribs as a gentle wifely hint.

“I think we should go to the library,” Harry said, and led the way while Ginny called for Kreacher and tea.

A few minutes later they had Malfoy settled in an armchair with a mug containing rather more brandy than tea, and he was starting to look marginally better.

“Now, what’s this about, Malfoy?” Harry asked, settling on the couch next to Ginny.

Draco took a deep breath and set the mug down, rising to pace in front of the unlit fireplace.

“Before I tell you…before I say anything…Potter, has Granger been acting strange lately?”

Ginny folded her arms.

“Strange how? And sit down, Draco, we’re not at a tennis match.”

Malfoy sat down and ran his hands over his face. They were shaking.

“I’m not sure. Not remembering things, things from your past that she should know? Acting out of character? I just…Ginny, I need to know.”

Ginny leaned her elbows on her knees, focussing on their guest. Harry would have to let her take the lead on this; his relationship with Malfoy had always been…volatile. At best.

“I think we’re all still a bit shell-shocked. I think that a few out of character moments are to be expected.”

“The other day she didn’t remember who Fluffy was,” Harry abruptly offered. “We were talking, me and her and Ron, and he mentioned Fluffy, and…she covered it up really well, but you could tell she didn’t know. And her marks at uni are…”

“Not what anyone was expecting,” Ginny said. “But that’s just the stress from the war, and she’s having trouble focussing because of the nerve damage, she said…Draco, I really need to tell you what’s going on.”

Draco nodded as if to himself and drew a tiny Pensieve from his pocket, hardly larger than his hand.

“I think it would be easier if I showed you.”

He set the little bowl down and, after exchanging a brief glance, Harry and Ginny both stuck their fingers into the silvery liquid.

They found themselves in a long, dark corridor lit with flickering torches, the only sound the constant dripping of water. A moment later they saw Malfoy drop into the memory, just as memory-Malfoy came into view, glancing from side to side with curiosity totally at odds with real Malfoy’s expression.

“Follow him,” the real Malfoy said hoarsely, and they set off after his memory.

“Where are we?” Ginny asked quietly.

“Basement Level Six, St. Mungo’s,” Draco said.

Ginny didn’t bother to protest that there _was_ no Level Six. Draco wasn’t going to change his story, and if they weren’t where he said they were, what harm could it do?

The passage seemed to go on for miles, but eventually they came across a door, and Malfoy stopped. The heavy steel door was set flush against the corridor wall, completely featureless except for a small viewing window, into which memory Draco peered.

They watched him stagger back, white-faced, and a moment later Harry had walked straight through the door, his shoulders set as though he was expecting something horrible.

“I’m not going in there again,” the real Draco said. “Once was enough.”

Ginny cast him a glance and stepped through the insubstantial memory door. She came through into a room with white walls, white floor and a glaring white ceiling that cast a harsh light on the room’s occupant.

It was a woman, skeletally thin, the only lifelike thing about her a tangle of golden brown hair that reached to her waist. She was wearing white as well – white scrubs, white skin against the white, white walls, the wild curls and tangles the only colour against the glaring whiteness of the room. Even her small pale feet didn’t break the featureless room’s monotony as she walked from one end of the room to another.

“My God,” Harry breathed, and Ginny inched closer to him as she watched the woman turn, muttering under her breath. “Gin, can you make out what she’s saying?”

The both jumped as the door opened with a clunk and memory Draco stepped through, white-faced. The woman whirled away from him and knelt in a corner, her hands over her ears. Ginny found herself crossing the room to kneel beside the apparition, but there was no comfort to give the woman as she whispered endlessly to herself.

“I sent him to my parents, he’s dead he’s dead he’s _dead_ leave me alone, he’s with my parents and he’s dead and please leave me alone,” she said, her voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper. She didn’t stop when the memory of Draco reached out and turned her slightly so that he could see her pale, thin face and her terribly familiar amber eyes.

“Merciful Merlin preserve us,” Draco said. “ _Granger_?”


	3. Chapter 3

From the door to the white room, Draco watched his memory-self tilt Hermione’s face up to his and murmur the spell, and then they all landed on their knees in Hermione’s mind.

“What the hell is this?” Potter asked quietly as they looked around, taking in the ruins of the library, the books burned and scattered and the walls splashed and dripping with blood that seeped from the gaping chasms and cracks between the shelves. All around them was the sound of screaming, Hermione’s voice over and over in a choir, begging for mercy, begging for death, or just _screaming_ , the way you did when there was nothing else to do _but_ scream.

“This is Hermione’s library,” Draco said quietly. “Her…it’s complicated to explain, but this _isn’t_ what it’s supposed to look like.” He looked up at his memory-self, who was staring at the destruction with a horror-struck expression. A moment later the memory-Draco set off for the opposite end of the massive room, running through piles of books and sending puddles of blood splashing as he ran.

“It’s bloody macabre,” Ginny said quietly as they followed, but before he could reach the gaping, howling chasm that was the far wall of the library they were forcibly ejected, and found themselves sitting around the Penseive in Grimmauld Place again.

Potter and Ginny were pale and shaking, and Draco wasn’t exactly on top form himself, but he’d at least been somewhat prepared this time.

“So explain the library,” Ginny said. “I assume she used the method of loci to organise her memories?”

“Yes,” Draco said. “And that’s not what it looked like three years ago.” He caught a sharp look from Potter about that, but Potter didn’t say anything, for which Draco was infinitely grateful. Later, there would be time to explain why he knew what the inside of Hermione Granger’s mind looked like. Much, _much_ later.

“I should hope not,” Ginny said. “It looks like it’s been destroyed. Could a Legilimens do that?”

“I think she did it herself,” Draco said softly. “There’s a way…if you have important information that absolutely cannot be discovered…you can bring down your shields and crush everything. Professor Snape called it imploding. I think that’s what she did.”

“So you think that that woman is the real Hermione,” Potter said, sitting back with an exceedingly grim expression on his face. “And the person who’s six months pregnant with Ron’s baby is…who, exactly? A Polyjuiced imposter?”

“If I were going to kidnap a war heroine, Potter,” Draco said, “I’d make pretty damn sure that I couldn’t get caught. And what better way to do that than to make sure she’s _never even missed_?”

“Are you thinking doppelganger?” Ginny asked, looking at Draco.

He nodded.

“It makes the most sense. An imposter couldn’t maintain the façade that long. But a doppelganger, imbued with her own memories and experiences? The woman who’s married to your brother probably really believes she is Hermione Granger.”

“But _why_?” Ginny asked plaintively. “Why take her? What do they want from her?”

“If I had to take a wild guess,” Potter said, “I think they want Professor Snape.”

“But he _really is dead_ , Potter, she’s not lying about that. You saw it, after all,” Draco said, but it felt as though a light had gone on inside him, because if Professor Snape was _alive_ , then…then anything was possible. Even saving Hermione, even restoring the ruined library of her mind.

“Hermione was the last person to see his body. And she said he’s with her parents.”

“Who are dead, right?”

Potter shook his head slowly, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Before we left to go hunting Horcruxes, Hermione told me that she’d modified her parents’ memories and sent them to Australia. She only changed her story to them being dead after the war.”

Draco sat back in his chair.

“Well that changes _everything_. If they’re alive, she’d have sent Severus to them.”

Ginny called for more tea, and they all jumped as Kreacher appeared with a crack.

“Why would she have done that?”

“It’s a long story, Potter, and not really important right now. Right now, we have two main problems. First problem, we need to get Hermione out of there. You saw how thin she is – I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s been Vanishing her food instead of eating it, she doesn’t have a wand but she always could manage that one wandless. She’s not going to last much longer.”

“I agree. We definitely need to get her out of there as soon as possible,” Ginny said. “What’s the second problem?”

“The second problem is that she’s fractured her mindscape,” Draco said. “At the moment, she’s insane. And if we’re going to get her back, we’re going to need someone who is an expert Legilimens, and who knows her mind inside and out.”

Potter groaned and closed his eyes.

“You’re going to say we need Snape, aren’t you,” he muttered.

“Got it in one,” Draco said. “If we want to get her mind back the way it’s supposed to be, we’re definitely going to need Snape.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's a shitload of complicated backstory here that I'm not entirely sure how to convey. At this point, I'm hoping it will come up in conversation or something.


	4. Chapter 4

They offered Draco a bed for the night and he accepted, so when Ginny wandered downstairs at arse o’clock the next morning to find something to feed the bottomless pit known has her firstborn son, she found a Malfoy making coffee in her kitchen and chatting with Phineas Nigellus, who’d taken to hovering around when there was cooking going on.

“Harry’s gone to fix up a room for Hermione to stay in when we get her out,” Ginny murmured as Draco set down a cup in front of her and, after a glance at James, started rooting in the cupboards for the porridge. “I told him to empty out one of the spare bedrooms and transfigure it a restful colour – I think he decided on cream – and just put in the absolute basics.”

“Makes sense. After spending Merlin knows how long in that cell, she’s going to have to ease back into the world. You don’t think a bed might be too much at first?” Draco pushed a bowl of porridge over at her, and she started levitating the spoon to feed the baby.

“Harry and I spoke a bit last night,” she said quietly. “We think she’s been in there about eighteen months.”

Malfoy choked on his coffee.

“ _What_?”

“She left Hogwarts the morning after the battle, and she was gone for about a week, he said. Came back in time for Fred’s funeral. Harry says he remembers her saying she was going to go back to sit her NEWTS properly before going to uni. Then she was gone for about two weeks, and when she came back she got engaged to Ron straight away, took the honorary NEWTS, and went to uni.” Ginny took a slow, deep breath, trying not to think about the fact that Hermione, the real Hermione, had been missing for almost two years, and _nobody had even noticed_. And all for Snape? Merlin knew the man was a hero, but who would suffer that long, that much, for _Snape_?

Draco sucked a breath between his teeth and scowled into his cup.

“I think you’re right. I spoke to her, and she said…she said she needed time, that every time she saw me she saw Aunt Bella, but she said she still loved me, that she just needed time. And then later…I saw her in Diagon Alley and she looked at me like she _hated_ me. I’ve tried to speak to her but it’s like she doesn’t even know me anymore.”

They shared a long look. Two weeks was enough to create a convincing doppelganger, if you had someone of the right gender available to Obliviate, and were skilled enough with the potions and transfigurations that would turn one person’s body into another. It was the oldest, the darkest of magics. As Healers, they were taught ways to distinguish the real person from the doppelganger, and to discover the original identity of the fake, but could Ginny face the consequences of telling her brother that his wife was not who he thought she was?

“And you thought it was because of what happened at the Manor? That she couldn’t forgive you?” Ginny asked gently. She sympathized with Draco, of course, but really she was trying not to wonder who was _really_ married to her brother, trying not to go through the lists of the missing and the dead, wondering which of them had been changed into an ersatz Hermione Granger – one with worse marks, a new love for Quidditch, and a deep devotion to Ron.

Draco shrugged.

“Stupid, isn’t it? I called her a filthy Mudblood in second year and she forgave me for that, and I thought she couldn’t forgive me for not being able to stop Bellatrix.” He snickered a bit. “God, but she yelled at me about calling her that. I thought my ears were going to catch fire. And then she sicced Severus on me, and I literally thought I was going to _die_.”

“You’re going to have to explain the situation with you and Hermione and Snape at some point, you know,” Harry said mildly as he entered the kitchen. “Gin, the room is ready, so as soon as we’re done talking we can take James to your mum’s and start planning.” He pushed his glasses up his nose, a sure sign that he was uncomfortable. “Also I don’t think we should tell Ron. He’s…well, he’s not all that stable, after everything, and if he knows about this…”

Draco scowled.

“And I can’t believe you lot ever thought she’d marry _Weasley_. No offense, Ginny, but…”

“He’s been her best friend for seven years, Malfoy, and she adores him.” Harry’s voice was flat and hard, and Ginny tried not to sigh. It was ridiculous, how important it was to him that Ron and Hermione be happy together.

Malfoy shrugged and sipped his coffee.

“Look, just tell us the long story, please?” Ginny finally said. “Seriously, all through school we thought you hated Hermione, and now you’re acting all concerned and like you know her, so we’d really like to know what’s going on.”

Malfoy sighed and pushed to his feet, pacing the length of the kitchen table, while Harry took a wary seat next to Ginny.

“Okay, so. The story goes back almost thirty years ago, before any of us were born, and I’ll tell it to you like we heard it. My father had just joined the Dark Lord at my grandfather’s behest. Unfortunately old Abraxas was mad, but not stupid, so the family fortune was locked up like a nun’s knickers. The Dark Lord expressed his disapproval. Vigorously. Lucius was trying to apparate home, and he splinched. You think he carries that cane for shits and giggles, Potter, but he completely fucked his leg. Lost about half the actual muscle, and cracked every bone in his foot when he fell twelve feet onto asphalt.”

“Merlin,” Ginny breathed. “How did he survive?”

“He landed right in front of someone’s car. A Muggle man, not much older than my father. Recently arrived from Israel, a dentist. I trust you can see where I’m going with this?”

“Hermione’s father saved your father’s life?”

“Well, yes. But it’s more complicated than that. Because obviously, being Muggles, they had no way to contact anyone in the wizarding world. So they healed him up themselves. It took weeks, and the culture shock was…well, it was massive. My dad had never actually met any Muggles before, you see, and Aaron and Chani were such wonderful people…by the time he was well enough to send for my mother, they were fast friends, and he owed them a life debt besides.” Malfoy paused, rubbing a thoughtful hand across his face. “This is where it gets tricky. So Aaron and Chani and Lucius and Narcissa become very close. Aaron suspects there’s something different about their friend, but they never actually _say_ anything. And then one day, Aaron comes to my father, who is his closest friend – Hermione comes by her awkwardness naturally, I assure you, and her tendency to glom onto people and stick like glue is all Chani – and he tells him that he and Chani have talked, and they would like Lucius to help them have a baby.”

Harry choked on his coffee and glared at Draco, while Ginny, feeling as though she was in shock, let James squirm down and crawl off. Kreacher would keep an eye on him.

“If you’re trying to tell me that Hermione is your half-sister, Malfoy,” Harry growled, and Malfoy snorted.

“More like a quarter-sister. If you’d let me explain? So my father takes the proposal back to my mother, who is a very clever woman indeed, and she tells him that there should be no reason why they can’t try and help the Grangers conceive their own child with magic. Especially considering a young protégé of Lucius’ who is just about to leave Hogwarts, and might be willing to do a favour for an old friend on the down-low. Who happens to be a complete fucking genius at Potions, and has been apprenticing under Madam Pomfrey as preparation for his Mastery. So they ask Snape to take a look at the situation.”

“I see where you’re going,” Ginny breathed. “Did he brew them the Patres Duos?”

“Right in one, Madam Potter,” Draco said with an almost manic cheer. “Turns out that Aaron, being a Muggle, can’t empower a conception potion by himself. But Snape ran the numbers and he thought that it would probably work if they brewed Patres Duos using Aaron’s blood and my father’s…yes, well. And so there you have it. Hermione is my father’s half-daughter, and my quarter-sister.”

“And I assume Snape became friends with the Grangers as well,” Harry said.

“Sort of. He delivered me and Hermione, of course – Chani and Narcissa bonded while they were pregnant, and in the end I was born in the Grangers’ guest room because my mother was too scared of bloody Bellatrix to remain in the house. And so they kept inviting him back. Birthdays, Passover, you name it. And little Hermione _adored_ him. My mother said she used to stop crying when he came into a room. And when she was nine, she told him, very seriously, that he had better not marry anyone before she was all grown up, because he should give her a chance to see if he liked her.”

“Aww,” Ginny said with an embarrassed little grin, remembering her own childhood crush. “That’s actually kind of sweet.”

“Yeah, only Hermione still loves him. She never stopped. I mean, she wasn’t annoying about it or anything, it was just like…I don’t know, Ginevra, it’s weird. It’s like a fact of the universe. Water is wet, the sky is blue, and Hermione loves Severus.”

“But he was _awful_ to her!” Harry cried.

“Believe it or not, he discussed the situation with her before she went to Hogwarts. He sat both of us down and told us that the Hat would probably not put Hermione in Slytherin, because she’s a Muggleborn, and that we would probably not be able to be close at school. And he explained about the Dark Lord and how he had to pretend to hate Muggleborns and Gryffindors – although I think he didn’t have to pretend that last bit very hard – because when the Dark Lord returned, he would probably have to go back and pretend to serve him again. That’s when he started teaching us Occlumency as well.”

“At eleven?”

“We were six, I think,” Draco said thoughtfully. “Although Hermione didn’t develop the Library until after first year – she saw Beauty and the Beast when we were on hols and thought it was the most amazing thing she’d ever seen.”

Harry pushed away from the table and ran his hand through his hair, making it stand up even more than usual.

“Right. Well. That’s…”

“A hell of a story,” Ginny finished for him. “It does make sense, though, in a weird kind of way. I always used to see you and Hermione coming and going from Snape’s office in my first year. I’m guessing he was arranging for you guys to spend some time together?”

Malfoy nodded.

There was a long silence, and then Kreacher appeared with James Sirius dangling from one clawed hand, cackling like a loon – little James _adored_ Kreacher – and his nappy bag from the other.

“Should Kreacher take the young Master to the Weasley house, Mistress?” the old house-elf asked. Ginny nodded quickly, reluctant to leave Harry and Draco alone for any length of time, and the elf was gone.

“Right,” Harry said, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get planning. Malfoy, we’re going to need to know exactly where you found the entrance to that level. And then,” his expression turned grim, “we have to decide who’s going to fetch Snape.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mmmm exposition and coffee. Merry Christmas!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone please give a hand of applause to Ms_Anthrop for making this chapter a billion times better than it was before!

Draco was sweating. As a rule, he didn’t approve of sweating, but in this case…well, it was summer in Australia, and he was dressed for winter in London. Although he couldn’t quite imagine what appropriate clothing for an Australian summer might be. Nudity, probably.

And then his thoughts were wandering into dangerous territory again, because he jumped when the communication mirror in his hand buzzed him.

“Malfoy?” Potter’s voice came over the connection. “Are you there?”

Draco looked at the house. As far as he could tell, it belonged to the owner of Prince’s Potions. And the owner of Prince’s Potions, he’d managed to ascertain, had arrived on Avalon Isle almost two years ago, and was known as a ‘grumpy sod’. He was pretty sure that he was standing in front of Severus Snape’s new home. It was just that he couldn’t quite believe that Severus would buy a house on the ocean, much less a stunning place like this.

It was all bloody Potter’s fault that he was here, of course. They’d been almost done with a truly _brilliant_ plan to rescue Hermione, which would involve Ginny going to see Snape and begging him to come, when Mister Big-Time Auror Harry Bloody Potter had managed to remember that if Snape was on Avalon, then he wouldn’t be able to leave the island by any magical means. It was all terribly complicated, and involved the wards around the island, sanctuary, and the fact that Snape was still wanted for murder despite being thought dead. Draco honestly hadn’t had the patience for the details, but he’d gotten the general gist – Snape wasn’t going to be able to come to England via magical means. They’d just begun trying to figure out how to get Snape there as soon as possible using Muggle methods, when Ginny had come up with a plan that didn’t involve bringing to Snape to England at all. It did, however, involve some risk of harm to Draco’s precious skin.

And so here he was, in front of a beautiful seaside home on an island just off Australia, with a highly illegal intercontinental Portkey beacon in his pocket and hoping that his godfather wasn’t going to murder him when the plan went into action.

“I think so,” he finally told Potter. “I’m putting the mirror in my pocket so you can hear. If it’s him, start the op.”

“Right,” Potter said, and Draco put the mirror away without disconnecting, strolled up to the front door, and knocked.

Thirty seconds later, he knocked again. Louder.

He was about to knock a third time – although ‘pound’ might have been a more appropriate term – when the door wrenched open.

“What the bloody- _Draco_?”

And there he was, in all his glory. Well, most of his glory. He was wearing pants. Draco had seen Snape in boxers before, but he was pretty sure that there had never been this much of the man to see. Gone was the skinny, almost gaunt Snape he’d known all his life, to be replaced by some tanned stranger with honest-to-goodness muscles under all those acres of scarred, bronzed skin. If this what Hermione had always seen when she looked at Snape, Draco could completely understand why she wanted to worship at his feet. Or higher up. Draco was feeling the temptation to fall to his knees himself, and he’d never fancied Snape.

“Severus,” he managed, fighting the urge to swoon. Good _God_ , who gave him the right to suddenly become attractive? It was weird, and Draco didn’t approve. Unattractive people were supposed to stay that way, if only out of respect for Draco’s nerves. “Can I come in?”

Snape didn’t say anything, just turned and prowled into the house on bare ( _elegant!_ ) feet, leaving the door open to Draco could follow. Draco could no more have stopped himself from following than he could have stopped the tide. When the hell did Severus acquire that arse? Who authorised it? And where could he get one of his own?

“What do you want, Draco?” Severus asked, going over to a kitchen counter and busying himself with coffee.

“We thought you were _dead_ ,” Draco managed. “And you sent no word. Not to my father, not to me. My mother cried at your funeral, you unmitigated _ass_!” Which were not the words he’d been planning at all. But thinking of Snape looking like _this_ and then remembering the wasted, wild-haired girl in the white room, Draco’s rage came bubbling to the fore.

“I find myself unsurprised,” Severus said mildly, presenting Draco with a delicious-smelling cuppa. They stood on opposite sides of the granite kitchen island, cups in their hands.

“That my mother cried?” Draco asked. “You’re the only one, then.”

“I confess, it was stupid to think she’d keep her word to let you know, when she didn’t keep a single one of the promises she made me before I left, but I did think she had enough of a heart to spare your parents the grief,” Snape said, and his voice was more bitter than the coffee he was drinking.

There was a sound behind Draco and the instincts honed by a year living in Voldemort’s house (yes, technically his father owned Malfoy Manor, and had his name on it and everything, but it certainly hadn’t felt like his father’s house while the House Guest from Hell had lived there) had him spinning, wand out, to confront quite possibly the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She was tall, almost as tall as Snape, and her body…well, Draco didn’t quite understand the attraction of the female form but if he had been that kind of man, he suspected his tongue would have been hanging out. Her long strawberry-blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders, almost as long as the shirt that was clearly both the only thing she wore, and tailored for a man, and her legs – well, legs were unisex, his father had always said, and you could admire a good set of legs no matter what lay between them. These were seriously admirable legs. And her face, even without make-up, even sleepy-eyed – or possibly especially sleepy-eyed – was just…yes, well.

“Sev?” she said, in a husky kind of bedroom voice, and Snape raised an eyebrow at her.

“Estelle. This is my godson Draco Malfoy. Draco, this is Estelle.”

Draco turned back to Severus, who was looking smug.

“This is why you never wrote us, isn’t it? You fucked off to Australia and found a girlfriend, and never thought to let us know.” The rage, the fiery temper years of trying had never been able to suppress, was welling up in him again, and he just barely managed to punch the table instead of Severus. “You _bastard_. You let her rot for _two damn years_ when anyone with sense would have been able to figure out something was wrong. If we’d known you were alive we’d have moved heaven and fucking earth to figure out what was going on, but you let us think you were dead while you were fucking some bottle-blond trollop in your beautiful seaside house. I bet you forgot all about Hermione as soon as you got here, didn’t you? Did you even _try_ to-“

“HOW DARE YOU!” Snape roared, lurching to his feet. “How _dare_ you,” he said more quietly. “I wrote to her. Letters, dozens of them. She replied twice, and then there was silence. And then the Prophet reported that she was married to that oaf Weasley, and I wrote _again_ , and the letters came back unopened. What was I supposed to do, Draco? Go to England and beg her to come to me? When I’d spent her entire life telling her that she should be with someone her own age, and she finally took my advice?”

“You thought she took your advice,” Draco said. “You complete and utter-“

“Excuse me,” apparently-Estelle asked. “Who are we talking about here?”

“ _We,”_ Draco said firmly, “are not talking about anyone. My godfather and I have some issues to talk about in private.”

She turned her big blue eyes on Snape, who snarled at Draco.

“Perhaps this is a conversation best had in private. I’ll see you later, Estelle,” he said. Thus dismissed, she stomped out of the kitchen, appearing again pulling on a pair of jeans. She flounced out, swishing her waist-length hair behind her as she cast a reproachful look at Severus. The moment she was gone, Severus turned his formidable glare at Draco, who set his jaw and glared right the fuck back.

“You want to know what you were supposed to do? You were supposed to _write_ to us. One line, Snape, one line to prove that you were alive, and none of us would ever have believed that she’d willingly marry Weasley. And we’d have-“ he broke off when his pocket began shouting, and yanked out the mirror. “Potter?”

“Is it him?” Potter shouted over the sound of agonized screaming. “I can’t hear shit, it’s too damn loud but I swear, Draco, if it’s not him I’m taking her to Grimmauld and damn the consequences!”

Draco spared a glance at Severus, who was staring white-faced at the mirror. Possibly Severus didn’t recognize the sound. Good for him if that was true, because Draco had been waking up with Hermione Granger screaming in his ears for _years_.

“It’s him,” Draco finally snapped. “Do it.”

He pushed away from the counter and pulled the beacon out of his pocket, setting the little coaster carefully on a spare bit of floor.

“Tell Snape it seems like a delayed form of Cruciatus,” Potter shouted, his face shaking in the mirror. “We have no idea how long she’s been under or what kind of shape she’ll be in on the other side, but neither of us know how to remove the hex. It’s in his hands now.” Then the mirror went black.

Draco could hear Snape taking a breath behind him, but he paid no attention as he watched the coaster. And then, moments later, without any kind of fanfare, a screaming, writhing bundle appeared on the kitchen floor of Snape’s beautiful house.

 


End file.
